


Shadowy Return

by orphan_account



Series: Shadows [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), S.W.A.T. (2003), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And everyone is confused, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton is Brian Gamble, Clint Barton is William Brandt, Gen, and possibly angry, canon through the 1st avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:55:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton had a life outside The Avengers. Several lives, if he was being honest, and they're coming back to haunt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadowy Return

**Author's Note:**

> I have an adoration with fics where Clint is other characters that Renner has played, and this has been sitting on my laptop forever. Seriously. Any movie that came out past the avengers in 2012 is not taken into account in this. That being said... it doesn't rule any of that out either?
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Natasha sipped her coffee as she watched the people mill around her. The mess hall at SHIELD HQ was busy this time of day. A phenomena that made it perfect for observation.

People watching was a long time hobby of hers.

She and her partner, Clint, even made a game of it some days. They would give the people around them funny backstories and dialogue.

If anyone dared to ask though, she would say she did it to help her with the many roles she played. She’d watch a woman in love to see how to act like it, watch a mother to see how to deal with children.

Not that she needed those kinds of lessons anymore. She wouldn’t be the infamous Black Widow if she couldn’t act.

And while the pretense was true, in the past, when she people watched with Clint it was purely for fun.

“Hey Tasha.” Clint greeted as he kicked out the seat across from her and sat with his own coffee and pastry.

Natasha rolled her eyes at the nickname but didn’t comment on it.

“You’re late.”

Clint squawked, looking at his watch. “Only by a minute!”

Natasha raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to tease him more when the observations her mind automatically logged registered.

The first thing she noticed was that his hands were shaking slightly as he gripped his coffee mug. His hands never shook. She’d seen him injured and drugged and still his hands had been steady enough to take the shot.

If that wasn’t enough of a tip her off that something was wrong the bags under his eyes. The lines of tension on his forehead and the way he couldn’t seem to relax into his chair did the trick.

“What’s wrong?” She asked instead, the joke dying before it ever reached her lips.

Inwardly she was wary, whatever had shaken Clint must be bad for it to be this readily obvious.

Clint grimaced, the knowledge that he was caught in his eyes.

“You know what tomorrow is?” He asked, staring over her shoulder. It was a move that would give any onlookers the impression he was looking at her but allowed him to avoid meeting her eyes.

Cocking her head to the side Natasha considered the question. It took a moment to figure out the context of the question.

Did he mean what day it was? As in Monday? Or did he mean the date? Was there some significance to the date?

Then it hit her.

“It’s your Dark Day.” She told him, leaning forward over the table and forcing him to meet her eyes.

Barton's Dark Day. It was the overly dramatic name the active gossip mill of SHIELD had given it. It wasn’t even one day in particular, it was actually more like this week.

Every year at this time, on the dot, Barton would disappear. He’d request it off if he could, or disappear as soon as he finished the mission he was involved in.

Once, she remembered suddenly, he’d taken Coulson with him. The handler had later refused to tell her anything about it when he came back. No matter how many times or different ways she'd asked.

“I hate that name.” Clint grumbled, but he didn’t deny that she’d guessed right.

For a moment he hesitated, floundering, as he clearly struggled to ask her something.

Natasha waited him out, reveling in the rarity of the event. Clint was a sniper, and one of the best, so it wasn’t often someone managed to outwait him.

“ _Willyoucomewithme_?” He asked quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Natasha frowned, “You’re talking too quickly, Pitchka.”

In response Clint took a deep breath and tried again, “I said, will you come with me?”

Natasha blinked and repressed the urge to smile, settling for a twitch of her lips instead.

 Clint would see it and know what it meant.

“Of course.”

Clint let out a loud breath and slumped into his seat. Sprawled in the usual boneless way he hadn’t managed since he joined her at the table.

“Thank you.” He told her quietly, heartfelt.

Natasha smiled and sipped her coffee.

Took him long enough.

* * *

Natasha raised an eyebrow at their surroundings. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, a trip to his home town maybe, or a visit to someone from his past. But this wasn’t it.

Clint had been very closemouthed about where they were going, her only clue being that it was in California. And she only knew that because Clint had requisitioned a quinjet to get them there and back.

Coulson had taken one look at it, seen the date and silently signed the forms.

As a result she hadn’t had much clue as to where they were going or what it was about. She certainly hadn’t expected a graveyard.

Clint glanced over at her, to gauge her reaction. She smiled at him and looped her arm through his.

He relaxed, leaning into her as they headed towards the gates.

Once in the graveyard he led her unerringly towards their destination. The familiarity he had with the place was telling.

They kept walking to a small patch near the back where they stopped in front of a tombstone. It was a modest tombstone without all the engravings and embellishments people preferred today.

It simply said: Brian Gamble. 1971-2003

Clint stepped away from her and squatted in front of the tombstone. She watched as he reached out to trace the words with his fingers.

“Before you joined up I did a lot of deep cover assignments,” he told her, his back to her as he spoke. It was easier that way.

Natasha didn’t say anything, already aware of what his missions had been like before her time. She had to be, she’d taken over a lot of those assignments.

Barton preferred jobs where he was the backup, the sniper.

But she didn’t know any details about the Ops he did without her or before her.

“Gamble was one of them.” Clint continued. He looked like he was going to go on, explain more, when a car pulled into the parking lot behind him.

The graveyard was off the main roads and pretty far from any civilization. It was because of this that they easily heard the car pull up. It was also the only car they’d seen since pulling off the highway.

Clint’s head jerked around, assessing the blue truck. His eyes widened and he jumped to his feet, grabbing Natasha’s hand and tugging her away from the tombstone and towards some trees.

Confused, Natasha played along and let him lead her to a gravestone under the canopy of trees.

“Clint, what?” She asked, ready to demand answers. It wasn’t often she saw him like this, this flustered and jumpy.

He glanced down at her and tugged her into his arms. He positioned her so that his back was to the man now making his way into the graveyard. He laid his head on her shoulder, hiding his face in her hair.

Natasha allowed it, but vowed she’d get revenge for it later. She did not appreciate being manuvered like a doll.

“Who is that Barton?” She demanded quietly, even as she rubbed his back. Pretending she was comforting him as he grieved.

She felt him huff, his lips brushing her neck.

 “That would be Jim Street. Gamble’s partner.” 

“Your old partner.” She deduced.

Curious now, she looked at the man. He was tall with spiky dark hair and an athletic build. Definitely law enforcement of some kind and from his posture she’d guess that he’d spent time in the military.

But what really interested her was what he was doing. He’d pulled out what appeared to be a bottle of amber liquid, liquor, though she couldn’t tell what it was  from here. He also pulled out two glasses, setting one on top of the gravestone.

Filling both he saluted the grave, before downing his cup in one go.

“You come here every year to visit your own grave.” Natasha observed aloud, “How many times have you seen him here?”

Clint shrugged under her grip. “Just the first time, I hadn’t expected him to come to the funeral let alone visit for the anniversary.”

“So you started timing it so you never came on the exact date.” Natasha guessed as the pieces fell into place. It would explain why he never went on any specific day.

“Yeah. Didn’t work this year. Guess he got caught up on a case or something. Or maybe he just forgot and came once he remembered.” He mumbled, leaning a little more heavily on her.

Natasha frowned, and turned her attention back to Street.

He’d settled himself in front of the grave, sprawled on the ground. Street appeared to be talking to the gravestone. He looked to be in that stage of grief between hysterical laughter and crying.

But unfortunately his head was tilted just enough away, and in enough shadow, that she couldn’t read his lips.

“He misses you. He would not make the trip to talk to your grave otherwise.” She replied, scoffing. “Sentimental Americans.”

Clint chuckled, having long gotten used to comments such as the last one. “I don’t know about the missing me part. I think he just feels guilty. Or maybe he just chooses to remember the good Gamble, before I was ordered to alienate myself and get kicked out of the department.”

Natasha bit back a reply, recognizing stubborn Clint when he showed up. She could argue it any way she wanted, he wouldn’t believe it.

So she pulled him closer to her and watched as his old partner grieved for the man very much alive in her arms.

She’d finally figured out the puzzle, one of the last secrets Barton had kept from her. But she felt no satisfaction for it.

They never talked about the trip again, about Brian Gamble and Jim Street. But she never forgot.

* * *

Tony poked at the plate of shawarma in front of him, part of him wishing he’d never suggested they get it after the battle.

The suggestion had been spur of the moment, something his mind had dredged up that had just seemed appropriate.

He wasn’t even sure what it was, it looked to be some kind of meat, still on spick it had been cooked on. Lamb maybe?

The sight of it was making him feel queasy. What he wouldn’t give for a good old American burger right now…

Looking around he could tell that no one else shared the same uneasiness. Thor was tearing into it with gusto, already on his second helping.

Captain ‘Fancy pants’ America had been wary at first but was now happily eating it. As was Bruce, though he was eating at a much more sedate pace.

And across the table the assassin twins, as Tony had mentally dubbed Natasha and her male counterpart, were eating theirs as if they ate it every day. No second glances, not hesitation.

Either they were so hungry they didn’t care what they ate, which he strongly doubted at least in Natasha’s case, or they’d had this before. Maybe even from where it originated.

Somewhere in the Middle East he’d guess, based on the name. He could just picture the pair of them, sitting in a small hut and eating this straight off the fire.

“Tony?” Bruce asked, jarring the billionaire genius back to the present.

Tearing his gaze away from the pair, he focused on Bruce, “Yeah, buddy?”

Bruce peered at him over his glasses, reminding Tony inexplicably of  librarian,.“You were staring.” He said, a mild rebuke in his tone.

Tony shrugged, glancing over to see if Natasha and Barton had noticed.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

Yep, she had definitely noticed. Barton, however, was steadily looking down at his lap where he’d stashed the file one of the many SHEILD agents wandering around had given him. 

“What ‘cha reading Bird-boy?” Tony asked, unable to help himself.

Barton looked up, his steely grey gaze somewhat unnerving. Still, it was better than the eerily electric blue Tony had seen on the video feeds before.

“It’s a debriefing on what happened on your end while I was… compromised.” Barton told him finally, and to his credit he barely hesitated before saying ‘compromised’.

Tony winced, wondering whether he’d gotten to the part about Coulson. Had they known each other? Tony supposed they must have.

Natasha clearly knew him, knew him well, and Barton was her partner.

While Tony’s mind once again wandered off point, Natasha elbowed Clint.

“Nothing we were ever trained for,” She reminded him pointedly.

Clint avoided her eyes, uneasy. But then he clenched his jaw and turned back to her.

 “Never again,” he vowed, “I’ll find a way to make sure this never happens again. To either of us.”

All Natasha could do was stare, only peripherally aware of the others around them. She recognized that mulish look in his face, it was the same one he’d donned when he’d last confronted Fury and Coulson. Telling them, not asking, that he was recruiting her instead of killing her.

She had no doubt that he wouldn’t rest until he’d found a way to prevent their minds from being taken over. Whether by magic or the more classic brainwashing.

It was a more comforting realization than it practically should have been.

Clearing her throat, she gestured for him to keep reading. It wouldn’t be long till he reached the part about Coulson.

She felt like a coward, but she couldn’t bear to tell him herself.

Instead she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he turned back to the folder. She would know when he reached that part.

Meanwhile she returned to steadily picking at her food.

She didn’t have to wait long, as within the next few moments Clint tensed up beside her. The leg that had been resting on her chair falling to the ground with a thump.

“Natasha?” He asked.

She easily heard the unspoken question under the first. “Fury was the one to make the call.”

Around them, the others shifted uncomfortably, having guessed what they were talking about.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, his lips twisting into a grimace.

Uncomfortable with the level of emotion in the room, Natasha shifted.

Slowly, she reached over to lay her hand on his knee.

His eyes snapped opened, and her breath caught at the raw pain on display in his gaze. There was a reason he tended to wear sunglasses a lot.

The old adage about the eyes being the windows to the soul had always applied to him rather well.

He blinked quickly, several times, before abruptly jumping to his feet.

“I…. I need some air.” He said turning on his heel to head outside only to stop in his tracks when he saw who was standing in the door way.

Fury glared at him. “Sit down agent. We have bigger problems than your panic attack.”

Clint froze. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

When his eyes snapped open, Natasha and Fury exchanged looks. They recognized the steel behind his gaze that meant his mental shields were up and as strong and stubborn as ever.

“Yes Sir.” He responded, retaking his seat.

Fury shook his head, he’d deal with Barton’s inevitable mental breakdown later.

Turning to the only working TV in the room, he strode over and changed the channel.

The avengers collectively froze at the clip the news station was playing. Romanoff and Barton in particular grew very pale.

It was an up close film of the moment when the pair had left the crashed quinjet and flanked the captain as they headed to meet the others.

Natasha’s face was partially obscured by her hair, but Clint’s face was on clear display.

Clint’s hands clenched into fists.

Could this day get any better?

“Fuck.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile in Washington D.C.

“Am I hallucinating?” Benji asked as he stared at the computer screen in front of him. Since IMF had become aware of the very real alien invasion occurring in New York City they’d had all available personnel going over any and all information they had.

Including the videos the news stations were showing. _And_  the clips that people trapped in the city had been brave enough, or foolish enough, to take from close proximity.

And Benji could not take his eyes off one such video. It was taken from a building across from where they were filming.

The object they were centered on appeared to be a man. One standing on the corner of a skyscraper, fighting the currently unnamed aliens with a bow and arrows of all things.

“What is it Benji?” Jane asked, wandering over between phone calls.

They’d had her working all her contacts while Benji did the computer stuff and Ethan tried to keep the director calm.

Benji couldn’t form the words to tell her so he pointed at the screen.

Jane took one look and her phone dropped from her grasp.

“ETHAN HUNT GET OUT HERE!” She shouted, wasting no time in getting their team leader’s attention.

“What?” A rather harried looking Ethan demanded as he poked his head out of the director’s office.

Jane put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

Ethan quickly made his way over.

What he saw when he drew close enough to see the screens rendered him speechless.

“Is that…?” he breathed.

Benji shrugged, “I’m running facial recognition as we speak. We’ll know for certain in just a moment.”

They all fell silent as they continued to watch the clip, as the aliens rushed the archer and blew up his perch.

Jane gaped, a hand flying to her mouth as the Brandt look-a-like jumped off the building with only his arrow-grappling hook to save him.

“That decides it.” Ethan stated, grasping for straws, “That can’t be Brandt, he hates heights.”

As if to prove the world hated him the facial recognition program chose that moment to ping, and identify the man as none other than William Brandt.

The group was silent.

After several long moments Ethan spoke.

 “Pack. We’re going to New York.”

His two present team members stared at him.

“New York’s still a no-fly zone right now. Will be for a while most likely.” Jane reminded him.

Ethan glared at her. “Let me take care of that. We’re going. Our favorite analyst has several questions to answer.”

And with that parting shot Ethan disappeared back into the Director’s office to demand what he knew of the situation.

He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

* * *

And in California.

Jim Street sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as he leaned over his mountain of paperwork.

As soon as people had realized that the clips of an invasion in New York City weren’t a hoax there had been mass hysteria and riots.

Which is why now that it was calm, the invasion over, he had an unprecedented amount of paperwork.

“Street.”

Looking up Jim saw his superior Honda watching him from his office doorway.

“Sir?” Jim asked, eyebrows jumping when Honda simply turned and retreated back into his office.

Realizing he was meant to follow Jim quickly got up, being careful not to knock over the tenuously piled paper.

Once inside, he tensed as he realized that Honda was watching the old clips from the invasion on replay.

Because of the mess that had been going on here very few of them had gotten a chance to watch any of the news as it was happening.

“You’re going to want to sit down,” Honda told him tiredly.

Jim blinked, but complied.

“There’s some stuff I need to tell you about how I came to be working here again.” Honda told him, “It had a lot to do with Gamble.”

Holding back his reflexive flinch at his now deceased best friend’s name, Jim nodded.

Honda looked like he was at a loss as to how to start.

“I have a brother.” He started finally, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “An annoying little shit. He’s the head of a super-secret government agency called SHIELD.”

Jim blinked, recognizing the name. It had popped up several times in the last few days.

“He was the one who asked me to come out of retirement, to watch out for one of his undercover agents, make sure he got out alive.” Honda continued.

“That agent was Clint Barton, or as you knew him, Brian Gamble.”

Jim stared. He just couldn’t make sense of what Honda was telling him.

Honda had a brother who sounded like he was straight of a spy movie, Brian had been one of said spies, and if Honda’s job was to get him out alive…

“Brian’s alive?!” Jim demanded.

Honda nodded, pointing to one of the screens behind him.

Jim turned, got a good look, and froze. Because the man fighting on the ground with those aliens could only be Brian Gamble. Jim would recognize him anywhere.

“That son of a bitch.” He swore.

* * *

 

On the other side of the country the Avengers were tooping into Stark tower. Clint paused, feeling a trickle of unease travel down his spine.

Natahsa drew up next to him, "Clint?"

He shook his head, "I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Let me know. 
> 
> A/N: This is a one-shot for now, but I have plans to turn it into a series. I need something positive to focus on with Civil War coming up. I haven't firmly decided on pairings yet, so I'm open to suggestions if you have any.


End file.
